Home Is Where My Heart Has Settled
by Selene Illusinia
Summary: Short one-shots featuring Clint and Phil. Written for ColonelWoytuck over on Twitter.
1. Peace In Your Arms

The scent of pizza filled the apartment as Clint walked in, drool almost pooling in his mouth at the smell. Starving didn't even begin to describe how he was feeling at that exact moment. Between the five day mission that involved a hell of a lot of running, the tasteless MIR's, and the fact he hadn't gotten a chance to actually eat anything in the last seven hours, Clint was starved for coffee and food among other things. Not necessarily in that order either.

Immediately, he bee-lined for the kitchen, hopefully sticking his head inside the small room. If there was coffee too, he was going to kiss someone, regardless of who was cooking in the apartment. The scent of tomatoes, basil, and pepperoni intensified as he entered, though all thoughts of food momentarily vanished when he caught sight of the person bent down in front of the oven.

Even though he theoretically shouldn't, he could recognize that ass anywhere. Specifically, it was the ass of his handler, one Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD. His handler who also just so happened to be his boyfriend. Plus, if he was honest, Phil was the only person he knew who would have the thought to make pizza and coffee at home in anticipation of his return. Even with the amount of work he had to do, Phil still found time to spoil Clint when he'd been off on mission. It was something he was eternally grateful for.

"Dinner's almost ready," remarked Phil without looking back at him. How the man knew he was there, Clint didn't know, but he didn't ask either.

Instead, he walked up behind his boyfriend and waited until Phil was standing again, carefully wrapping his arms around Phil's waist. "Thanks, I'm starving."

"I thought you might be," stated Phil simply, laying a hand over one of Clint's.

For a long moment, neither moved. They simply stood there, Clint relaxing as Phil's warmth and presence helped sooth his nerves. The masculine scent of his partner mixed with that of the cooking food screamed home and helped further chase the remaining tension from his body. Phil just stood there silently for his part, letting Clint draw peace from his presence. They remained that way until the timer dinged, signaling the pizza was done.

Reluctantly, Clint released Phil so the other man could retrieve the pizza from the oven, setting the bubbling, cheesy delight on the stove to cool. He then turned to Clint, kissing him quickly before shoving him towards the door to the kitchen. "Go in the living room, I'm going to finish in here and bring the food out."

The grin that spread over Clint's face was massive. The living room meant cuddling and Clint wasn't about to say no to that. He half jumped on the couch happily, sprawling out as he relaxed into the familiar piece of furniture. "You mind if I turn on Dog Cops?"

"Go ahead," agreed Phil, though Clint could hear the eye-roll in his voice. Phil wasn't the biggest fan of Dog Cops, mostly because he found the show boring. Then again, Clint felt the same way about Supernanny, so they were on even footing there. The rule with TV was that whoever came home from the mission got to choose what they watched. It was just common courtesy that Clint ask before he turned it on. Phil wasn't going to say no.

Flipping on the TV, Clint's face nearly split when he spotted the DVRed Dog Cops episode he'd missed. Of course Phil would have the foresight to DVR the episode. Clint had been too busy trying to stumble from their bed at 2 am to have even considered the DVR. But Phil clearly did, probably when he got up hours later.

"Front or back?" asked Phil as he stepped out of the kitchen with the pizza balanced on a tray in one hand and two cups of coffee carefully balanced in the other.

Clint didn't stand up to help, knowing from experience that Coulson would just shoo him back to the couch. The burn of coffee was still firmly infused in his mind from the first time he tried to help Phil by taking things from his hands when he had everything balanced. Instead, he scooted everything off the coffee table so Phil could set their dinner down. "Back."

Nodding, Phil slid the pizza and coffee expertly onto the table without dropping or spilling anything (a feat Clint had tried once with colossal consequences- it was just his luck the remote had ended up under his foot). Clint scooted back against the back of the couch, sprawling out and opening his arms so Phil could settle in front of him.

Phil didn't hesitate to drop onto the couch in front of Clint, settling back against the archer to his great satisfaction and starting the missed episode of Dog Cops. Some missions, yeah, Clint preferred to be the one held, particularly if it had gone badly. But there were other times when he'd rather be the holding Phil and this was one of them.

His arms settled around Phil's waist as the man reached forward for a slice of pizza, holding it out for Clint to take a bite. He happily complied with the request, biting off the end of the pizza happily. He loved Phil's pizza. How the man managed to make it so good, Clint wasn't sure (he'd tried to make it himself- the fire alarm went off), but he could eat that pizza for the rest of his life and be happy.

Without thought, Phil took the next bite before offering the slice back to Clint again. It was how they always ate after missions it felt like: cuddled on the couch with someone holding someone else and them splitting whatever food the one who wasn't deployed obtained. It was hope, it was comfortable, and Clint wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Gifts From The Heart

The sight of the lumpy looking thing at the end of the air-shaft Clint was crawling through made him pause in his forward trek. It was positioned exactly in front of his destination: the office of one Phil Coulson. Sure, he could have just _walked_ in, but it was more fun for him to crawl through the vents. Plus, he was pretty sure Phil felt a little better knowing Clint was in the vents. Or he'd at least stopped telling Clint to get out of the vents. That might have been resignation more than peace of mind though. But regardless, this lumpy thing was now sitting in front of his destination: the vent leading into his superior/boyfriend's office.

For a full minute, he just lay there staring at the thing. Whatever it was didn't appear to be moving though, which probably ruled out something living. Plus, the last time he found possum in the vents, it had been furrier. This thing was just lumpy. It actually looked kind of like a bag.

Slowly creeping closer to the thing (because he didn't really want to go through the whole series of rabies shots again), Clint watched carefully for any signs of movement. Anything that would indicate this foreign thing was about to attack him. Still, no movement from the object in question.

He was a good seven feet from the thing still when Phil's all-too familiar voice called out to him. "It's a bag, Clint. Not a wild animal."

How Phil knew he was in he vents when he was still feet away, Clint didn't know. He didn't ask though as he picked up his pace, grabbing the bag when he was close enough to it. The bag itself was unmarked and obviously contained something, though Clint wasn't sure what. "Why is there a bag in your vent, sir?"

"It's for you," replied Phil casually, as if leaving a gift for someone in an air vent was a completely normal thing to do. Glancing through the vent grid, Clint noted his boyfriend was sitting at his desk, apparently completely involved in his paperwork. He didn't even appear aware that Clint was there, though given he'd been talking to him, that obviously wasn't true.

Pushing open the grid (because opening gifts in an air vent didn't work well as Clint had discovered), he jumped down into the office with said bag in hand. In better light, he could see the bag was thin plastic, like the type grocery stores or gift shops gave out. The lack of markings was weird, but Clint figured it was probably some small local shop that couldn't afford to have plastic bags with their logo printed on it. "What is it?"

"I'm pretty sure the point of a gift isn't to tell the other person what it is they're getting," remarked Phil as he continued to focus on his paperwork. The fact that he wasn't even looking up made Clint a little uneasy. He trusted his partner with his life, but that didn't mean he wasn't a little nervous about what Phil could have gotten him. Especially if Phil didn't seem interested in watching him open it.

Shrugging as casually as he could, Clint pulled open the bag and dug out the item balled up on the bottom. The soft cotton was kind of a surprise for Clint, but as he unfurled it and caught what was written on the fabric, he began laughing.

The shirt (or at least half a shirt) proclaimed in large, white letters: 'I love pizza and you'. It was a t shirt for sure and probably a girl's from the looks of it. The bottom looked like it would fall at least a few inches short of his waist line, too.

"I thought you'd find it amusing," remarked Phil, who was still focusing on his work somehow.

"Where did you find this?" asked Clint as his laughter died down to snickering, glancing over at his boyfriend as he tugged the shirt he was wearing over his head.

He didn't see Phil freeze so much as heard the scratching of his pen cease as soon as his shirt rose over his head. It was followed by the choked remark of: "Clint, what are you doing?"

"Trying it on," replied Clint as he pulled his shirt over his head and picked up the one Phil had bought him. "Is this a woman's size?"

"Yes," confirmed Phil in a slightly strangled voice. "I got the biggest size I could but I doubt it'll fit."

"Eh," dismissed Clint, tugging the fabric over his head. It wasn't actually too bad, though he'd probably have to cut the sleeves off. He could feel the fabric straining against the muscles of his arms. Still, he managed to pull the shirt all the way on, despite the fact it was a little tight. The hem fell shorter than Clint had thought it would, hitting just past the bottom of his rib cage and leaving his abdominal muscles exposed. Still, he had to admit, he liked it.

Turing to Phil, he offered his boyfriend a grin as he extended his arms to the sides so the words were visible. "What do you think?"

"I think it's very tight," remarked Phil, though he kept his voice steady. Whatever surprise he'd been suffering through earlier was gone, or at least well hidden behind his standard agent mask. The man who barely phased now was Agent Phil Coulson, supernanny. Of course, that might also be because Phil had barely glanced at him, which Clint suspected might be due to the tightness of the shirt.

Grinning, Clint crossed to Phil's desk and picked up a pair of scissors that were perpetually sitting in arms reach on the desk. Though he knew Phil could improvise a weapon out of anything, it did help if the object was already sharp. Snatching up the scissors, Clint easily cut the sleeves open, snipping around the edges to remove the restrictive fabric. He hated to have his arms restrained. It was literally a nightmare for him.

Shoulders free, Clint placed the scissors back exactly where he had found them and snatched up his shirt. Throwing it over his shoulder, Clint headed for the door to Phil's office with a wave. "Thanks for the shirt Phil."

"No problem," muttered Phil, though Clint could hear the groan in the man's voice. If it was a restrained patience groan or a 'god he looks hot' groan, he wasn't sure, but the groan was audible all the same.

Laughing, Clint stepped out of Phil's office, winking at his startled secretary before heading down the hall whistling.

* * *

"Is that a woman's shirt?"

Natasha's calm, toneless voice cut through the archery range from behind Clint, causing the archer to glance back as he loosed the arrow in his grasp. "Yeah. Phil got it for me."

"Did he intend for you to actually wear it?" asked Natasha, one of her eyebrows raising as she came up beside him to lean on the wall.

"Probably not," replied Clint with a slight shrug as he drew back another arrow, aiming for a target that went flying by above.

Fury had installed a full archery range complete with moving targets after the fifth time he got a complaint about Clint using other agents for target practice. They'd been powder sack arrows of course, completely harmless, but there'd been a number of dry cleaning bills that accompanied the complaints (Fury said hundreds but Clint suspected it was only 150 at most). Building the archery range had been deemed cheaper and safer.

"Huh." Natasha's standard dismissive noise accompanied her own movement back towards the door to the range. "Mats, five minutes. Also, Clint? Lose the shirt while we spar, I don't want to tear it."

"What, it looks that good?" teased Clint as he let his last arrow fly before shutting down the moving range.

Natasha snorted. "No, Phil might ground me if I do. Based on how he sounded when I stopped by his office, you're in for a wild time when you get home."


	3. Costumes and Confusion

Clint felt himself choking a little as he watched his partner step into the room. This was wrong- so incredibly wrong. He should _not_ be even remotely turned on by the sight before him. Not at all. But then again, beneath the blue cowl and red, white, and blue costume, it was still the man he loved standing before him and not his overly-patriotic teammate.

That's right, his lover, Phil Coulson, was currently striding into their shared bedroom dressed in a eerily authentic looking replica of his hero's costume. There was even a shield made from what looked like metal, though Clint would guess it wasn't vibranium. Then again, this was Phil- it very well might be.

As odd as it was seeing his lover dressed as his teammate though, Clint had to admit that Phil looked good in the uniform. Namely because it was skin tight and showed off the muscles he normally only got to see when his partner was naked. This way, he could see almost everything. Thank god the pants had a little room to them, otherwise Clint wouldn't feel comfortable letting Phil out of the house in those. Even if it was only a Halloween costume.

"What do you think?" asked Phil curiously and did he have to sound so excited? He literally sounded like a kid and the clashing images were screwing with Clint's head.

"Yeah, looks good," confirmed Clint, clearing his throat a little as he tried not to turn into a horny teenager as he looked at Phil's costume. "Really, uh, authentic."

Phil's arms dropped to his sides immediately, turning from the mirror to look at Clint with narrowed eyes. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong!" insisted Clint, panic momentarily flaring up as he gulped slightly at Phil's look. It shouldn't be hot! Phil looked like freaking _Steve_ and Clint definitely didn't feel that way about his teammate. "It looks good. Really."

"Then why do you look horrified?" countered Phil, folding his arms in his 'tell me exactly what the situation is right this minute Barton, or I'll have you on paperwork for a week' look. And dressed like Steve, Phil went from looking like a dangerous office drone to looking like the all American hero giving him the look. Except it was still Phil's gestures and damn, damn, damn that shouldn't be hot.

"You look hot!" blurted out Clint, cringing as the words left his mouth. Oh god, that sounded bad. That sounded like he wanted to sleep with Steve, which he didn't. He was very much in love with Phil, there was no disputing that really. Oh god, Phil was going to hate him. He needed to make this clear, somehow. "In the costume! You look really hot in the costume."

One of Phil's eyebrows rose sharply as he pushed back the cowl to give Clint a 'are you crazy?' look.

And he wasn't getting it, of course. Great, he needed to find a way to explain this, otherwise Phil was going to think he wanted Steve and he _didn't._ "It's flattering. The tight fit and everything, it shows off your body in ways I don't normally get to see. It's hot."

For a moment, Phil just stared at Clint in clear confusion, which only made Clint more frigidity. Damnit, how could he make it clear to Phil that he wanted him and this weird attraction thing was to Phil in skin-tight material? He was pretty sure if he jumped Phil while he was dressed like Steve, it wouldn't help his case. He opened his mouth to try to explain again, only to be met suddenly with laughter.

Sure enough, Phil was doubled over, laughing, in the middle of the room. Which was definitely not the response Clint expected. What the hell had he said that was so funny?

Apparently sensing Clint's confusion, Phil tried to straighten a little and bring his laughter back under control. "I get it, Clint. You like the fit."

"It's tight!" repeated Clint, as if that was an excuse. Though really, Clint wasn't sure he needed an excuse. Phil always seemed plenty happy to peel him out of his tactical gear whenever he got home from a mission. "It's nice to see you in something that actually shows off your body rather than hides it."

Nodding a little, as if that somehow made sense, Phil strode calmly up to Clint, one hand rising so his fingers could curl in the other man's hair. He used that grip to bring their foreheads softly against each other, his eyes boring into Clint's own blue ones with a heat he didn't expect. "I get it, Clint. And now you understand why I half tackle you when you come home in your tactical suit."

"We don't always make it home," reminded Clint, relaxing as he realized whatever emergency he'd been imagining had been averted. "Remember the time on your desk-"

"Yes Clint, I do," growled Phil a little just before he kissed Clint hard. The kiss didn't last for longer than a moment before Phil pulled back again with a heated look. "I vote we recreate that incident here, now, on the desk I have here."

"Sounds like a party," agreed Clint breathlessly before he let Phil pull him from the room, still dressed like Captain America.

"Hey Clint." Steve's voice cut down the hall, causing Clint to pause in the hall. "Hang on, I want your opinion on something.

Glancing back towards his teammate's voice, Clint froze with the greeting on his tongue, almost choking at the sight that cut through his mind. Steve was heading towards him in uniform. A uniform that looked a lot like the one Phil had been wearing last night. The blush that rose sharply across his cheeks almost burned with it's intensity.

Steve stopped a few feet from Clint, his brow furrowing. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah, fine," confirmed Clint, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Hey, this gonna be quick Cap? I've got to meet Coulson for a debriefing."

"I was hoping we could talk about some of your arrow designs," explained Steve with a frown. "I'd like a rundown of what you have so we know from a tactical standpoint what you're capable of."

"A rundown of my arrows?" asked Clint, his face flaming again as Phil's voice muttering something about his personal arrow echoed through his mind. Yeah, this wasn't a conversation he could have with Steve right now. Definitely not. "Uh, tell you what Cap, I'll e-mail that info to you." Turning away before Steve could argue, Clint pretended to look at his watch as he took off down the hall. "Later Cap!"

As soon as he was out of sight of Steve, Clint let out a heavy breath. His shoulders met the wall behind him as he tried to force the blush that was still covering his face to recede. That shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. Still, he was going to have to avoid Steve for a while. A week at minimum.

Pushing away from the wall, Clint turned and headed towards Phil's office. He'd hop in the vents and hide there for the day. There was definitely no way he'd run into Steve in there.

Steve stared at the spot where Clint had been moments before, utterly confused by whatever had just happened. It had almost felt like the archer was dodging him. But Clint didn't have a reason to dodge him, at least he didn't think the man did. Maybe the SHIELD archer was just having one of those days. But that didn't explain how red Clint had turned when he looked at him.

"Captain?" The familiar voice of Phil Coulson drew Steve from his thoughts, causing the man to turn and focus on the SHIELD agent. As always, Coulson looked completely at ease in his suit, perfectly composed and calm. The bland mask he seemed to constantly wear would have been a little disturbing, if his eyes didn't crinkle a little and start to shine when the man was taking to Steve. Yes, Steve noticed- it was a bit hard not to.

Truthfully, despite his somewhat disturbing hero-worship, Steve respected and trusted Coulson. It always felt like, if anyone could give him an answer, it was the high-level SHIELD agent. Plus, he seemed very close with Clint. Maybe Coulson could give him some answers. "Agent Coulson, you just missed Clint. He's on his way to your office."

"For?" questioned Coulson, one eyebrow raising in that calm manner the agent seemed to always carry around, save the one time with the cards. Or where classic cars were concerned. Steve thought the man might have some kind of a complex.

"A debriefing," answered Steve, his own brow furrowing as he confirmed that, yes, Clint's explanation had been an excuse. Obviously, he'd done something wrong. "Did I offend Clint somehow?"

For a moment, Coulson seemed to consider the idea, apparently equally perturbed by the idea that Clint was using him as an excuse to escape conversations. Then his eyes flashed, as if he'd realized something, his cheeks coloring just a bit. It was followed by a clearing of his throat as he straightened, shaking his head. "No, Captain Rogers, you haven't. Agent Barton is right, I do need to speak with him about a debriefing. There are a few holes in his last report that we need to patch up, I'd just forgotten the request."

And if that wasn't a cover, Steve didn't know what one was. Coulson _never_ forgot anything. It was why he could still hold the whole 'you peed in your suit in front of a room full of people' incident over Tony. And how he always knew who'd emptied the coffee pot and hadn't refilled it. Obviously though, whatever Steve had done wasn't something Coulson wanted to share with him, which made him all the more concerned.

Sighing, Steve nodded as if Coulson's explanation were valid. "Alright, well, can you have him send me a list of his arsenal of weapons please? I'd like to know for future tactical reference."

"It will be printed out and on your desk before the end of the day," assured Coulson with a nod before he moved passed Steve towards his office. "Have a good day, Captain."

Groaning internally, Steve turned towards the gym with a sigh. Obviously, he wasn't going to get any answers out of either agent and clearly, whatever was going on wasn't going to get resolved. It was frustrating too- they had to be able to work together and that meant communicating when something was wrong. But it was pretty clear Clint had never received the memo and Coulson wasn't going to say anything- probably so Clint would eventually have to. That wasn't good enough for Steve though; if he needed to apologize for something, then he wanted to know what it was!

He was waiting for the elevator when an idea popped in his head then, eyes going wide. Of course, there was one other person who might know what was going on. And she might even tell him if he asked nicely enough.

Hopping in the elevator, Steve pressed the floor for the acrobatics training level and prayed that Natasha would be there.

The speed with which the ex-Russian spy moved always amazed Steve. It shouldn't; he knew the program she'd been put through was beyond brutal. She never talked about it of course, but he saw it in her eyes sometimes when they were out. It was a type of broken no one should ever bear.

"Steven?" Natasha's calm lit cut through the room, startling him a little out of his thoughts. Despite the fact that she was sweaty, hair flying around like crazy, he still found her beautiful. "If you've come to run the course, you might want to hurry. There's a team coming in to use the facility in about ten minutes."

"No, um, I was looking for you actually," replied Steve, rubbing the back of his neck a little. It felt intrusive and noisy to ask Natasha what was wrong- a feeling that hadn't hit until right that moment when he was actually faced with talking to her about Clint. Still, he needed to know what was wrong. Their team could depend on it.

"Me?" questioned Natasha, one eyebrow raising slightly in surprise. "Why?"

"It's about Clint," admitted Steve, his feet shuffling a bit as he tried not to feel awkward asking about his teammate's issues.

Natasha rolled her eyes a little, like this was a common response in her life. "What has he done now."

Well, that wasn't the response Steve was expecting. "Do you get asked this question a lot?"

"More than you'd like to know," sighed Natasha as she moved away towards where her things were sitting. With one hand, she motioned for him to follow, snatching up her things with the other and heading for an unmarked door.

Steve followed her through, though he nearly bolted back out when he realized it was a locker room. "Uh, Natasha, is this the women's locker room?"

"No," replied Natasha, rolling her eyes a bit as she disappeared around a corner ahead. "It's the men's. You'd never go into the women's, however I want a shower and whatever it is Clint had done likely needs to be resolved immediately. So, please, explain while I shower."

Panic began to itch along Steve's skin as he edged towards where Natasha had disappeared, if only so he wouldn't have to shout. It wasn't like he hadn't spent time traveling with a bunch of women during World War II who had a propensity to change in front of him or anything. Really, this wasn't much different when he thought about it. It had just been a very long time since he'd had to share a space with a changing woman, that was all.

Stepping around the corner ahead, Steve spotted Natasha's clothes sitting outside a running shower and almost immediately relaxed. He still wasn't comfortable being in the locker room with her, but at least he wasn't going to have to watch while she changed. Natasha's lack of self-consciousness was a little much for his sensibilities at times.

"So what has Clint done," prompted Natasha, as if she could sense him outside the shower.

Moving to sit on the bench in front of the running stall, Steve rubbed the back of his head as he tried to figure out how to voice his concerns. "I think he's avoiding me, but he won't tell me what I did to make him angry."

"He's avoiding you?" questioned Natasha and he could almost hear the furrow in her brow. "Since when?"

"Today at least," stated Steve, shaking his head a bit. "He made up an excuse about needing to debrief with Coulson to get away. Coulson ran with the excuse, but it was pretty clearly a lie."

Natasha audibly snorted. "If Agent Coulson wanted to lie to you, you'd never know it."

"I don't think he was expecting the lie," admitted Steve as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I just noticed it today. Has Clint said anything to you?"

"About being mad at you, no," stated Natasha, her voice a little distant as if she was considering something. For a moment, they were both silent as Steve let her wrack her brain for what could be wrong. Then, a sudden peel of laughter broke through the room.

It was so surprising that Steve actually jumped. What the heck? Had Natasha lost her mind? "Uh, Natasha?"

"Clint isn't mad at you, Steve," assured Natasha as she stuck her head out from behind the curtain. "Don't worry about it. It'll pass."

"But I don't get it," repeated Steve, his brow furrowing further. "If he's not mad at me, then what did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," dismissed Natasha, though he could see she was trying to contain her mirth at whatever had clearly happened. "Coulson just got his Halloween costume in the mail yesterday."

A Halloween costume? What on Earth did that have to do with anything? "I still don't get it. What does a Halloween costume have to do with Clint dodging me?"

Shaking her head, Natasha disappeared back inside the shower. "Think about it for a bit, Steve. You'll figure it out eventually."

* * *

Steve was browsing the internet that night, searching for his own name combined with Halloween costume to see if the internet would offer any solutions, when he finally got it. He spent nearly a week dodging both men as hard as they were dodging him after. Natasha spent the week laughing at them all.


End file.
